


Revenge of Chaos

by CaptSpaulding



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6306541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptSpaulding/pseuds/CaptSpaulding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While penance through slumber was Vincent's plan, it certainly wasn't Chaos'. With his human host in a coma of Chaos' making, the demon takes it upon himself to deal with the Shinra scientist responsible. In the aftermath, Veld discovers that his old partner's demise was greatly exaggerated. Rating for mildly gory description of Hojo's remains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge of Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot that came to me as I was itching to see more of both Vincent among the Turks and Chaos. I would consider continuing it if I had the skill or attention span, but I don't.

Form. 

It was strange to have one.

After spending eternity drifting in the Great Life-Blood, it was curious to find one’s world so confined. Instead of endless, infinite flashes of existence, there were merely sharp, clear images of one human’s short life. 

And yet, though the flesh was confining (and overcrowded), there had never before been occasion to simply observe how the tiniest, most insignificant mortals were so complexly designed. It was fascinating, really.

Bones. Muscle. Nerves. Blood. Organs. 

What a gloriously intricate design for a creature whose existence was meaningless.

To be fair, that wasn’t precisely true. Without the contributions of millions of creatures such as this, the Great Life-Blood would stagnate.

It was a drop of water in the ocean. 

It was a grain of sand in the desert. 

…It was incredibly stubborn.

It took many years for Chaos to awaken and adjust to being confined within a meat sack. Such a span of time should be merely a passing thought to a being such as him, but sharing the material form of this land-dweller seemed to expand time to an ever-present thing. Even the seconds crawled passed, as though each wanted to be the first to greet this ageless demon who had always ignored them. 

But more to the point: many life-years had passed by and never once had Chaos seen more than the darkness of his host’s mind or the darkness of their crypt. 

It was a curious thing that despite having four extra occupants in his head, this… human… seemed determined to lock itself away to rot, ignoring anything and everything else. 

Having spent several years merely adjusting to his new existence, Chaos began to feel an unfamiliar restlessness. No doubt it was a side effect of the human’s instinct to be active (which was fascinatingly a subconscious urge that the human was clearly ignoring). 

There was a near constant stream of roars and shrieks from the other residents, screaming for the human to release them, clawing and grasping for control over the shared form. 

None of them was successful. 

Strength of will was something the human had in excess. Resistance to its will merely strengthened its resolution to sit in a crypt and wallow in its guilt. 

Though, Chaos had yet to make his own attempt. 

The efforts of the other three had shown that it wasn’t nearly as simple as taking control. Were he to receive his Divine Call nothing would stop Chaos from fulfilling his duty. He would be patient, slowly enveloping the human’s consciousness in the demon’s oppressive darkness where it could sleep undisturbed by outside stimuli.

…This form’s awareness of time made waiting unpleasant.

So it was that Chaos found himself subtly sifting through the life-impressions of this human. 

There were glimpses from times when this mind was yet innocent of the ways of life, and times when that changed. There were times when the human had been willing to do anything just to survive, and times when it was willing to do anything just because it was told. 

It was a sharper existence than most glimpsed within the Great Life-Blood, colored with dark emotions and brooding thoughts. 

It made Chaos feel something he never had before. 

Chaos wanted.

He wanted to explore the world of men, to see the flow of existence from a new perspective. 

He wanted to see the metal cities that were little more than blights on the earth.

He wanted to dip into the ebb and flow that was life.

…

He wanted to get out of this accursed coffin. 

It took some time to figure out how to touch the human’s controls (nerves, apparently) and make them respond. It took even longer to do it without jostling the sleeping human’s awareness. Chaos, a being used to existing in hibernation, spent many more years ensuring the human would experience nothing but. 

 

The day he finally felt that the human’s consciousness was sufficiently cocooned, Chaos began by shoving the endlessly raging animals to the back of the mind. 

Seated firmly at the forefront of them all, with the human’s meditation now a deep, unnatural slumber, Chaos flexed unfamiliar arms.

Truly, this form was not entirely different from that he took of his own accord. Reaching out a hand, he ran it along the coffin lining, comparing the human’s memory of touch with what he now felt. They were a far more sensitive and tactile species. The cold, hard coffin lid was rough and unpleasant. 

Chaos moved slowly, adjusting to hands with no claws, arms that were too short, and vision less capable than his own. In short order, the lid to his coffin was set gently on the floor and the demon found himself in a dark, damp little room filled with more coffins. 

The door was locked, but it was a simple matter to crush the hinges and cast the whole thing aside.

Though Chaos had not himself been conscious for much of their procedure, the ghosts of his human’s memories flashed by at a glance towards the abandoned labs. 

Lips flickered down into a minute scowl. He had no desire for those memories to keep distracting him.

After all, it had been long since he had last embraced his element of choice.

As the demon finally stepped out of the mansion, he breathed the faintly distinguishable traces of smoke with satisfaction. In the wake of his flames, there were no more foreign and distasteful memories begging his attention. 

With nothing more pressing demanding his attention, and with Gaia’s vast lifescape spread before him, Chaos turned his sights on a more personal goal. 

The human in white would pay for caging him. 

 

Doctor Nicholas Boyd yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he settled down at his desk. It was going to be a long, dull day. 

Dr. Boyd grabbed a stack of six-part folders from his inbox, each labeled with the names of numerous third-class SOLDIERs. Good, all fifteen had been delivered from the records room. 

Flipping open the top folder, he turned to the back to examine the first SOLDIER’s SC Form 329. Browsing through the numbers and seeing no abnormal reactions listed from the soldier’s last injection, he nodded and set it aside. 

He repeated this process fourteen more times. 

With all forms in good order, Dr. Boyd turned to his computer, drafting up a new prescription form for each of them. Since all fifteen SOLDIERS were showing acceptable progress with their first five injections, they would be getting their first increase today. 

When all copies had been printed he went through the tedious process of signing each one and filing them in the appropriate folders across from their SC Form 329s. 

By the time he had finished the Science Department had filled up and begun buzzing with activity. With a few nods to his coworkers, he fetched a cart from the storage room, depositing the folders on top with room to spare. 

Now for the unpleasant part. 

While face time with the professor was what everyone strived for, as it was the only route to promotion or a pay-raise, no one really looked forward to it. 

The esteemed professor always smelled funny, like unwashed gym shoes or boiled broccoli. 

There was a top secret betting pool among some of the gutsier scientists on just what the cause was, with poor hygiene being at the top. 

Dr. Boyd had his money on the man not knowing how to operate a washing machine. 

Regardless, as the remainder of his day was comprised of administering and monitoring Mako injections, a trip to see Professor Hojo was inevitable. 

Leaving the cart in the hallway, he knocked on his boss’ door. 

And waited. 

…and waited. 

…and waited. 

Dr. Boyd frowned to himself. While it wasn’t unheard of for the professor to be out of his office, Dr. Boyd had it on good authority that some results from one of the man’s pet projects had recently come back, and the professor was prone to sequestering himself in his office to study them. 

There was no light shining under the door.

Deciding to call the office directly, he headed back to his own desk.

“Has anyone seen Professor Hojo this morning?” 

His fellow doctors and the few interns present all denied having seen him come in yet. 

Hm…

*Ring ring*

*Ring ring*

*Ring ring*

“You’ve reached the office of the Director of Science for the Shinra Corporation. The Director is not available at the moment, please leave a message.”

“Professor Hojo, this is Doctor Boyd. The sixth wave injections are due today, and I need the appropriate Mako doses for the procedure. Please call me back at extension x4276 when you get this. Thank you.”

Hanging up his phone, Dr. Boyd frowned once more. The only logical next step was one he had no desire to make, but little choice left. At this rate, he was faced with either the professor’s wrath at being disturbed from whatever he was doing, or his wrath for not getting work done.

Both prospects sent a shiver of fear down the doctor’s spine. The professor was not known to be an understanding individual.

Everyone in the room had paused to listen when he left the message. Glancing around the room, curious and unsympathetic eyes glanced back. One or two looked almost excited. Everyone was eager to see what happened next, as surely it would be nothing good. 

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Dr. Boyd pulled up the emergency phone roster on his computer.

He scrolled down until he found the professor’s personal information, picked up the phone and dialed. 

*Ring ring*

*Ring ring*

*Ring ring*

Click. 

Apparently the professor had no answering machine set up on his home phone. 

Dr. Boyd blinked. He hesitated a moment before dialing a different number. 

*Ring ring*

“Shinra Security Dispatch, this is Jan, how may I help you?”

“Yes, this is Doctor Nicholas Boyd with the Science Department. I’m calling because we’ve had no contact with the Science Director all morning yet he was expected to be in the department all day.”

He could hear the clack of keys as the secretary asked, “And when was the last time you saw the director?”

“He was in the office last night working.”

“Does he have any projects or responsibilities that may have him otherwise occupied?”

A difficult question to answer, as the professor was always so secretive about his more intimate projects. 

A quick poll of the others watching him, however, reinforced his answer. “No one in our office knows of any reason he might be out this morning.” 

Fingers were audibly flying across keys as the secretary responded, “Understood, we will dispatch a team of security personnel to look into the director’s whereabouts. We will notify you when and if the director has been located.”

“Thank you.”

Hanging up the phone, Dr. Boyd leaned back in his chair. With nothing to do without access to the professor’s Mako supplies (access the scientist guarded fiercely), the doctor turned instead to notifying the SOLDIERs that their medical appointments were being postponed until further notice. 

A small part of him spent the rest of the morning daydreaming about being promoted in place of the MIA director. It would never happen, but it brought a smile to the man’s face anyway.

 

“Holy fucking shit…”

Everything was coated in red. The stench of piss, feces, and copper choked the air, and Corporal Edward Cruise heard his partner gagging. 

He could barely keep from doing the same. 

The otherwise dull white Shinra apartment looked like someone had exploded inside, and even just touching the light switch to see properly had left smears of blood on the corporal’s glove. 

“HQ this is Corporal Cruise, we have a Code 133 and Code 140. Request immediate backup.”

His radio buzzed back a confirmation that support was on the way and to proceed with securing the area. 

Easier said than done.

Weapons drawn, the corporal nodded to his partner, Eric Marks, to follow him inside. Despite their attempts to remain silent, their boots squelched on carpet and squeaked tile. Both did their best to ignore why. 

The victim was spread throughout the living area, a cold breeze from a shattered window fluttering through the blood-soaked drapes. Was that intestine draped over the coffee table? Aside from checking for signs of life (a pointless but required procedure) both security officers avoided that room like the plague. Bloody boot prints led away down the hall, and they followed it cautiously to the study.

“Freeze! Hands in the air!”

Cruise was surprised to find his voice steady. The man seated in the lounge chair and casually flicking through a stack of research papers was thoroughly drenched in drying blood. It matted the man’s black hair, staining his already red cape a dark crimson and rust in places. 

If the image wasn’t nightmare-inducing enough, the red-eyed man was also licking splashes of blood from the bronze gauntlet encasing his left arm. 

Mostly steady guns remained fixed on the man (monster?) before them as the suspect’s eyes lazily turned to them. A nasty, pleased grin spread across the man’s face, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed back in the chair, seemingly unconscious. 

Neither officer wanted to be the first to move.

 

A stinging slap snapped Vincent Valentine back to the land of the living. 

Confusion clouded his thoughts as he took in the bright lights around him, noting himself fully restrained on what felt like a lab bed. 

He suppressed the stab of fear that came with that realization. 

A face leaned over him, empty of emotion. Though the man was clearly Wutaian, Vincent felt his blood run cold at the sight of the man’s oh-so-familiar suit. 

Shinra wasn’t done with him. 

Perhaps it had been too much to hope that Hojo would abandon one of his projects completely. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Vincent merely blinked. 

The Turk above him fiddled with something before saying, “Please state your name for the record.”

Interrogation? Were this situation controlled by the Science Department Vincent would have only a designation, they wouldn’t acknowledge that he might be human enough to have a name. But what was he doing in Turk custody?

Regardless, he really couldn’t even give them what was once his name. The man he used to be didn’t deserve one, not with the sins he had committed. Besides, he was more monster than man now. 

“Suspect shows signs of consciousness and lucidity, but refuses to respond.”

…Suspect? His eyes flickered to the Turk, slight confusion in his brow.

The Turk stared flatly back before shuffling something in his hands. 

The gruesome pictures held over Vincent’s face were the last thing he expected. 

“Does this look familiar?”

The former Turk was a suspect in a murder?

A dark chuckle in the depths of his mind made Vincent stiffen.

“So you do know something about this.”

He nearly responded to the Turk’s question when images suddenly assaulted him. 

Wind whipped about him as he flew through the night… A window shattered as he crashed through it… A familiar, sneering face marred by indignation… The warm squish of flesh and organs beneath his fingers… 

The sickening coppery taste of blood finally registered in his mouth and Vincent couldn’t suppress his body’s physical response. 

His interrogator jumped back to avoid getting anything on the suit, just barely remembering to snatch the recording device as well. 

Spitting in a vain attempt to remove the taste of copper and stomach acid from his mouth, Vincent felt anger begin to build with his confusion. 

What had he done?!

The dark chuckle sounded once more. 

Had Vincent been so deep in slumber that his demons were allowed free reign? 

Shit…

He tried demanding more information from the suspiciously silent beings, desperately hoping the reviled scientist had been the only victim.

There was no answer. As far as he could tell, the three mindless beasts were slumbering. 

He couldn’t bring himself to prod at the evil cloud lurking behind them.

Chaos…

“Shall we try starting again? Please state your name.”

Vincent wasn’t sure how to proceed, other than knowing he needed to escape from Shinra’s hold. He couldn’t allow his demons to fall into their greedy hands. No doubt the Departments of Public Safety, Weapons Development, SOLDIER, and Science would all love to get their hands on him. 

Weighing the likelihood of escaping on his own and knowing he had to make a decision quickly, Vincent decided to take a gamble.

After all, Turks looked out for their own.

Well, at least they used to.

“Field Operative Vincent Valentine, serial 072365.” His voice was raspy from disuse, his throat aching from thirst, but his words rang clear in the holding cell.

The Wutaian Turk took a moment to absorb this statement before proceeding. “Turk Valentine was killed in action fifteen years ago.”

“Yes.”

“You acknowledge this to be true, yet you choose to assume the identity of a dead man?”

Vincent met the man’s eyes for the first time. “My last mission was an assignment to provide protection for Doctor Lucrecia Crescent on an expedition to Shinra laboratory facilities located outside the village of Nibelheim. However, the nature of the experiments being conducted were of… especially dubious morality. Upon voicing my concerns the lead scientist saw fit to have me executed then used in one of these experiments. Perhaps I did die at some point, but I have no memory of it. I remained sealed in stasis within the laboratory until waking up on this interrogation table.”

To his credit the other man showed no response to Vincent’s debriefing, merely pausing to absorb everything before leaving the room. 

It was a risk on Vincent’s part, but if Veld were still in charge…

Maybe the man would let Vincent take a shower. 

 

The Director of Administrative Research stared at the figure restrained in the cell through the reinforced two-way mirror. Forgotten in his hand, an old personnel file dangled loosely, its contents already known. 

Could it be the same man?

This person wore their hair long, though it was matted with dried blood. The suspect shared the same handsome yet non-descript face that once belonged to Veld’s partner, but as useful as it had been for Vincent to blend with crowds, it now worked against Veld. The man couldn’t rightly say if he recognized it. 

Add to that the glowing red eyes and gauntlet that was reportedly fused to the man’s arm, and Veld didn’t know what to make of it all. 

One way to find out. 

Outwardly confident, Veld had to steel himself for the confrontation as he strode towards interrogation room door. Behind him, Tseng watched on in silence.

Gesturing to the adjustable restraint bed, Veld waited as the Turk on guard in the cell cranked the bed up so the suspect was in more of a seated position. 

The man smelled absolutely awful. After this he was either going to be provided a shower or hosed down, depending on if he was cooperative or not. 

Red eyes locked with Veld’s brown and the director watched as a small grin danced at the edge of the suspect’s lips. 

With a better look at the man’s face, Veld felt his emotions knotting up in his gut. It couldn’t be…

“Director.”

It was that same, smug tone that Vincent had always used. The man always insisted on referring to his partner by title, knowing it irritated Veld to no end. 

Still…

Clearing his throat, Veld started with, “Tonberry.”

The man’s response was grudging, but there was no hesitation. “Igloo.”

Veld took a deep breath at the code word. His partner had been alive all this time…?

“You were dead. Professor Hojo and Doctor Crescent both reported that you were dead.”

All emotion died on Vincent’s face. “Things don’t always stay dead around Professor Hojo.”

Anger began to build within the head Turk. The personnel of his department were explicitly off limits to those of the Science Department, by order of President Shinra himself. It was outlined in the earliest of the company’s policies, drafted as a venture in minimizing interdepartmental bloodshed. Stealing money from someone else’s department was one thing, but personnel? His own attachment to Vincent aside, a competent Turk was a huge investment of both time and money. 

If Hojo weren’t currently dripping from the walls of his own apartment… at least that thought brought a grim satisfaction with it. The slimy professor deserved a messy, painful end. 

Forcing himself to calm, the director grabbed the chair near the door and sat himself before the best Turk he had ever known. 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

Tseng watched on in thoughtful silence. The director seemed convinced that the monster sitting in the room was once not only a Turk, but the partner he’d respected above anyone else. 

The Turk Vincent Valentine was practically a legend within their department, after all. The training unit ensured every new recruit was familiar with all current and former field operatives, usually as case studies on how to do well within the program. Instructors were usually prone to some exaggeration when it came to Turks killed in action, likely as a sort of homage to former brethren. 

Perhaps in the hope that they would be remembered the same way. After all, outside of their department Turks didn’t exist. 

According to the Vincent Valentine case study, the man had a marksmanship record that had yet to be matched on both handguns and sniper rifles. Assault weapons and swordsmanship had been mediocre, but in close range the man was deadly at hand-to-hand. Though his mission success logs weren’t perfect, he had the best track record of anyone in the department. Infiltration, intelligence gathering and analysis, hacking skills… though he didn’t outstrip everyone in every category, taken as a whole the Turk would have been a force to reckon with. 

It was hard for Tseng to believe such an agent had ever existed, let alone come back from the dead. 

He remained skeptical, even as he observed his director’s acceptance.

The tale spun by the suspect was direct, concise, and left more questions than answers. 

How did the suspect manage to break in through a window on the 32nd floor of Shinra? Why and how did he rip the man to shreds, instead of a clean execution shot as was his traditional style? Why hadn’t he fled the scene? Why was he licking the blood from his hands when he was found by security?

But most of all: what happened after Hojo shot Vincent Valentine all those years ago?


End file.
